


An Interminable Chain of Longing

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Dog Tags, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-18
Updated: 2008-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John still remembered Rodney's face when he'd first shown the team his gift. He'd often wondered since whether what he'd seen lurking in the shadows behind blue eyes had been thankfulness that someone had paid attention to the other man's needs...or a hope that someone might in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Interminable Chain of Longing

  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/000abt9k)  
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_It is the future that creates his present._  
All is an interminable chain of longing.  
Robert Frost: "Escapist-Never"

Drying blood dulled the mangled piece of metal offered to him in the palm of the corporal's hand, a ruddy crust obscuring a name and arcane terminology.

Rodney's blood.

The medic alert bracelet had caught on some internal barrier while they were extracting Rodney's arm from the Ancient machinery and the engraved metal had fallen victim to the emergency procedures. The medical information carefully scribed on the stainless steel was redundant at best. Carson had been there on the scene, and the expedition's doctor was already aware of everything that could go wrong when it came to the chief scientist's health.

John reached out almost hesitantly before he reasserted control and suppressed any show of emotion, limiting himself to a short nod after accepting the grim find. He waited until the marine had turned away before looking down at the torn links cradled in his hand. The medallion had bent and twisted and deep scrapes obscured some of the lettering, a stark addition to the mask of tacky blood. When John closed his fist over the steel, he could feel the sharp edges bite and threaten his own contribution to the sanguineous mess.

Taking a deep breath, he loosened his grip, and then forced himself to tuck the remains inside a pocket of his vest. When he returned to his office, he'd order a replacement for Rodney. Better yet, he would make it dog tags so that the chances of the scientist losing a hand, while immersed in his unofficial role of chief handyman in the city of the Ancients, might be a little less likely.

 

. . .

 

John completed the requisition and sent it flying electronically through the gate with a decisive click. Filling out the information for the new tags had been surprisingly easy, all of the fields filled in from memory and only needing a quick check for spelling on a medical term. He'd directed the delivery to Carson. The doctor would be the logical person to hand Rodney the replacement for the bracelet his sister had sent after their reconciliation. John still remembered Rodney's face when he'd first shown the team his gift. He'd often wondered since whether what he'd seen lurking in the shadows behind blue eyes had been thankfulness that someone had paid attention to the other man's needs...or a hope that someone might in the future.

Sitting back in his chair, John weighed the too-slight measure of Rodney's worth in his palm and sighed. According to Carson, the surgery had gone as well as could be expected, and the hand that helped conduct the strident symphony of Rodney's genius would soon raise the baton again. He would be released from the infirmary in a few days, and then his laboratory would sizzle with invective and insults while he healed. Unfortunately, the team would have to work with another scientist until Rodney was recovered enough to go through the gate. The substitute would be polite and competent and quiet and...ordinary.

Rodney would never stand accused of being ordinary.

The only time Rodney was quiet was when he was unconscious. Even in sleep, he mumbled and hummed with an insuppressible energy. John had grown used to the background noise that leaked from an overactive brain. Silence left him unsettled. He rubbed the rough edges of the cleaned steel and frowned before tucking the bracelet back into his vest pocket, and then he diligently began reviewing the duty rosters that were waiting for his sign-off. As soon as he was done, he could stop by the infirmary for that game of chess he'd promised Rodney. He'd make sure he picked up some blue jello along the way.

That was sure to be worth a smile.

 

. . .

 

It had been years since he'd taken shop in high school, but John still remembered how to use the machine and he smoothed out the jagged edges of the small medallion. He'd cut himself the night before, while absently rubbing the damaged piece between his fingers, and blood had quickly marred the page of the Russian novel he was reading...as if war had suddenly sprung forth between the printed lines. One solution would have been to throw the useless bracelet away. After all, Rodney was wearing his new dog tags and there was no need for the information contained on the original. Still, John found it oddly soothing to hold it in his hand, fingers blindly tracing the letters and memorizing curves of twisted steel warmed by his skin. During long nights away from the city, missing the sleepy murmur of his scientist across the divide of hut or tent, its negligible weight anchored him in the dark.

_Up...around...down...over...slide...scrape...up...around...repeat...._

Testing the newly flattened edges, John noted that more than a few of the letters had been buffed away, but Rodney's name was still clear and could still be detected, even by the calloused tips of fingers accustomed to rough use. The broken chain dangled to either side, but the clasp was still functional and, after a quick search, John was able to locate heavy gauge wire that could be pressed into duty as a replacement link.

A satin sheen tempted John's inspection at the end, and the bracelet settled onto his right wrist with ease. It was a little loose, but a small adjustment tucked it under the band he normally wore on that wrist. The medallion pressed flat against his pulse on the underside, and the warm metal settled against his skin. Another twist and John wondered if the letters would end permanently embossed on tender flesh, but it felt better that way.

It felt...right.

 

. . .

 

It had been too many long weeks, and John had been sure that Carson would release Rodney to the field for their latest mission...but he didn't. John sat in the pre-mission briefing and rubbed his wristband, pressing the edges of the steel inward until his hand throbbed and tingled from loss of circulation. He caught Rodney watching, his clear blue eyes never missing a chance to catalog reactions and results. He shrugged away the unspoken question and forced his attention back to Elizabeth's instructions. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a slight rhythmic movement of Rodney's fingers, as they pressed and released tags barely visible beneath his science blue shirt.

 

. . .

 

John always hated the fractured memories associated with anesthesia and morphine, disjointed segments of time interspersed with jagged bursts of pain. It had been a lucky shot for one of the villagers. An inch to the left and the arrow would have hit the vest instead of lodging in his right shoulder, and Carson wouldn't have had to cut carefully around each sharp barb that wanted to detach and burrow deeper into his flesh with every movement. The flight back to the gate had consisted of a kaleidoscope of images that left John convinced that poison had been part of the problem...and Carson had later confirmed it.

A hoarse cough earned him an ice chip and a warm cloth that cleared away matter that had sealed his eyelids shut. Blinking away the haze, John looked up into Rodney's frowning face and sighed, knowing he was in for a diatribe covering his antecedents, lack of intelligence, and overall inability to go through the gate and return uninjured. He wasn't wrong in his assumption, but the usual vitriol seemed subdued, lacked the edge he'd become accustomed to after far too many hazardous missions.

Closing his eyes again, he let the comfort of Rodney's complaints wash over him, a confirmation that he was alive and back where he belonged...in Atlantis...at Rodney's side. The smooth slide of metal beneath his drug-numbed fingertips distracted him, until recognition and dread stiffened muscles that protested until breath hitched in his throat. A glance through heavy-lidded eyes confirmed the missing wristband, and his fingers clenched tight over the bracelet that had somehow ended up in his left hand...a few feet away from where Rodney was sitting.

The roar of silence made it clear that Rodney hadn't missed a thing.

Turning his head away, John waited for the sound of angry questions or receding footsteps. He received a soft brush of sweat-damp fingers down his rigid forearm to his fist, and then a gentle prodding that convinced him to release his no-longer secret. A blunt fingertip stirred the links before flipping the medallion over, teasing the lines of his palm with the brief touches. Unable to bear the suspense any longer, John rolled his head back and opened his eyes to a smile of the rarest variety that lightened perennially cynical blue.

Trapped inside the uncommon gaze, watching those remembered shadows lift to reveal hope, John barely felt the nudges that closed his hand safely around his talisman. A furtive movement, almost aborted, and tags appeared to dangle in the air before John's puzzled eyes. There were three tags hanging on the bead chain, not the two that he'd ordered. Two with the red guards for the medical alert and a third, edged with ragged black rubber, sandwiched between them. Rodney stilled their sway and palmed the mystery tag so that John could make out the few letters that were legible beneath a swath of gouges and seared metal.

_S...P...R...J...HN_

At John's short nod of understanding, Rodney dropped the tags back inside his shirt, out of sight...but not out of mind. An awkward stillness grew between them until blue eyes dimmed along with the unusual smile. Rodney turned away to resume his seat in the too-distant chair. A choked sound of protest brought his bowed head back around, and John felt his chapped lower lip split under the force of a pleading smile.

The kiss was sweet under a copper tang and, with the renewed buzz of words pushing away the silence, John fell asleep believing he'd found something new for his fingers to learn.


End file.
